


a pack of cigarettes and an id

by katieandsav



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Pre Relationship, i have no idea where this takes place ok, they both have babyfaces, theyre dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 21:58:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1320646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieandsav/pseuds/katieandsav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras meet for the first time. Confusion about ages ensues. </p><p>(basically dumb fluff for fluff's sake)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a pack of cigarettes and an id

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about any typos, I wrote this on my phone!

Grantaire would not have listened to you if you'd told him, that on that very day, he'd meet the person who'd introduce him to the person who he'd fall in love with. 

But, crazier things had happened.

It'd started out normal enough. He'd gotten on the subway that morning, on his way to school from his apartment. He'd been sitting alone for a few minutes, but then the pivotal moment had happened. 

"This taken?" a man with thick, curly, hair, much like Grantaire's own, stood above him, gesturing to the aisle seat. 

"Be my guest," Grantaire nodded. 

"Courfeyrac, by the way," he said as he slid in to the seat. 

"Grantaire. Pleasure. Where are you headed?"

"University, I'm a transfer student. Law."

"Same. Well, not the law major part. I'm studying art."

Courfeyrac looked slightly surprised. 

"Don't even," Grantaire sighed. "I know, I look, like, 16. But I'm 20 years old, I've got a pack of legally bought cigarettes and an I.D. to prove it."

Courfeyrac started to laugh, much to Grantaire's surprise. 

"What're you laughing at? People are staring at you funny, you know." 

"Oh my god, dude. You remind me so much of my friend." 

"Is your friend also a struggling artist, then?"

"No, no, he's a law and politics major." Grantaire made a face at this. "It's because he's-" the train screeched, stopping Courfeyrac mid-sentence. 

They hurried off the subway and had just enough time for Coufeyrac to hurriedly. 

"Text me," he mouthed as a thick group of strangers separated them. 

***

Grantaire did actually text Courfeyrac. 

"hey this is the guy from the subway - call me r"

Seemed casual enough, he thought as he pressed send that afternoon. 

He switched off his phone a few minutes after he'd sent it, and walked to his last class of the day, art history. 

Art history was an easy class and he didn't really need to pay attention in it. He figured if he could google the answers for any homework, it'd be for this class. 

But something was slightly different today. There was another boy sitting at the table he usually sat at alone. 

He awkwardly made his way across the room and sat down. 

"Hello, I'm Jehan. I've just started this class, and I guess this seat was the only open one," his voice was airy and light, but somehow low-pitched at the same time. 

"Grantaire. Strange, you're the second person I've met today with a French name. Excluding myself, of course."

"Weird, my boyfriend has a French name, as do most of our friends. Maybe it's meant to be."

Grantaire sighed. "I'm going out on a limb here, but is your boyfriend's name Coufeyrac, and also a law major?"

Jehan tilted his head, causing his long blond braid to fall over his shoulder. "Yes, that's him."

"I met him on the subway this morning. He told me I reminded him of one of his friends?"

Jehan thought for a moment before speaking. "Grantaire, how old are you?"

"Oh my god, I'm not 16. I am 20 years old. Jesus Christ. Sorry."

Jehan started to smile and opened his mouth just as the professor walked in. 

***

"Don't worry, you'll see," Courf said to R as they walked into the Musain. 

"What, exactly, am I going to see?" Grantaire was exasperated. He'd known these two guys for, what, ten hours, tops. And here he was, being introduced to all their friends. 

"You'll see," Jehan smiled. 

The Musain was a sketchy looking place on the outside, but the inside was all dimly lit elegance, and Grantaire immediately felt at home. 

A large group of twentysomethings sat in the corner. They spoke loudly about current events, and a few even slipped into French here and there. 

"C'mon," Grantaire was suddenly being pulled to the group by Jehan. 

"Everyone," Courf shouted as the group fell silent. "This is Grantaire. He does not speak French, so do not speak French to him. And, no, he's not of legal drinking age." This was, apparently, an introduction. 

"But feel free to buy me beer anyways. And I'm fluent in Spanish, that's extent of languages." The whole group laughed and settled back into their banter. 

Grantaire took a seat by a brunette girl, who smiled with relief. 

"My names Eponine. You can call me whatever nickname you get out of that. And I'm so glad I've finally got someone else in the group who speaks Spanish, they've been using French in front of me since before you were born."

"Oh my god, seriously? I'm 20. 20 years old. Not 16, not 17. 20."

Eponine giggled. "You remind me of-" 

She was silenced by a blond boy, the leader, evidently, welcoming everyone to the meeting. 

Grantaire hardly paid attention to the words he was saying. All he could do, as an artist, was see. And appreciate the great beauty put before him. 

The man, no, boy, had a gorgeous halo of blond curls. He had dark blue eyes that stood out like the sun against his pale skin. His red lips formed word Grantaire couldn't care less about. In that moment, R felt as if he'd found one of the ancients.

But, oh my god, Grantaire thought, that guy can't be more than like, 17, that makes him underage. 

"That's Enjolras," Eponine whispered. 

Grantaire nodded slowly. "Okay."

Eponine smiled knowingly. 

Of course. Grantaire is finally attracted to someone, and he's fucking jailbait. Of course. 

***

Enjolras was late. He hated being late. 

But he had an excuse. He'd been typing up a paper earlier, and, due to lack of sleep, had taken a short nap, and, thus, was approximately 10 minutes late for the Amis meeting. 

He burst through the doors, and all his friends, plus the back of a head he didn't recognize, were sitting at their usual corner table. 

"Hey, sorry I'm late," everyone quieted down as he set his stuff down.

Enjolras scanned the room. It was the second floor, so it was pretty empty, no unfamiliar faces. 

Save for one.

There was a guy sitting next to Eponine. Damn. A really hot guy. Like, in a unique sort of 'look twice' way. 

Guy in question had thick, curly, hair. He had a well-cut jaw and thick biceps to match. 

But he couldn't be out of high school. Probably one of Cosette's old friends. 

He sighed internally and continued on with the meeting. 

***

Grantaire had officially blown it with Enjolras. 

He'd spent a good half the meeting tearing apart everything he said, and the other half thinking of how much he'd like to have sex with him.

"This meeting is adjourned," a man, Combeferre, announced as he put a hand of Enjolras' arm to stop him from raising his voice again. 

Grantaire watched as Enjolras spoke quietly with the other man, and watched as Courf whispered something in Combeferre's, which was evidently quite funny. 

R turned to leave and was a few steps out the door of the Musain before he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

It was Enjolras. 

"I'm sorry, I never got a chance to properly introduce myself. I'm Enjolras," he stuck out a hand, and R shook it tentatively. 

"Grantaire. I'm sorry, I, uh, tore apart everything you said?" R wasn't sure where this conversation was going. 

"It's okay. That doesn't happen often. Typically everyone's too afraid to disagree."

"I can tell why," Grantaire chuckled. 

"We should, uh, argue again sometime. In a more formal setting," Enjolras said. 

"Uh, like date? I mean, no offense, but couldn't I go to jail for dating you?"

"Well, uh, I dunno. I'm 21. And you're, what, 17?" Enjolras looked at his feet. 

"Oh my god. Oh my god. You're 21. God is real. You're 21. I cannot believe you're 21." Grantaire laughed. 

"Why is that so amazing? Wait, you didn't think I was your age, did you? That happens so often. I swear, I can legally drink and everything." 

"I'm 20 years old. You are older than me, yes. But not by that much." Grantaire pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "I don't smoke," he explained. "I just carry them around to prove to people that I'm actually old enough to be by myself on the subway."

"Oh my god," Enjolras shook his head and smiled to himself. 

"No kidding. So what were you saying about a more formal setting?"


End file.
